Desperate Measures
by Sulfur Dusk
Summary: AU - Determined to take revenge against the vicious thugs who attacked her brother, Rukia Kurosaki negotiates a contract with the Black Winters, the most feared gang in Karakura. The catch? Their leader is not interested in money. He's interested in her. HitsuRuki.
1. All In a Day's Work

**Desperate Measures**

 **Full Summary:** _Alternate Universe – Determined to take revenge against the vicious thugs who attacked her brother, Rukia Kurosaki tries her luck with the notorious leader of the Black Winter Gang, the "Frozen Dragon of Karakura", despite his insanely dangerous track record. Usually, those who do business with them never come out alive. But, there's a catch. He's not interested in money—he's interested in her._

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Bleach._

 **WARNINGS:** _Gangs, gangster violence, possible sexual situations, AU plot, crack pairing, possible OOC-ness, terrible language; will bounce between the T and M rating since it's more of a middle ground._

 **A/N:** _This story will be updated every Friday._

* * *

 **I**

All In a Day's Work

* * *

"This is unbelievable…"

"Renji—"

"How _hard_ is it to get a fucking normal order done? In the morning? In _a diner_? I _swear_ the taglines are just made for the purpose of attracting suckers. It's seriously the simplest order on the goddamn planet. Like, honest to _fuck_. Blueberry pancakes, omelets, fucking bowls of motherfucking oatmeal and shit… I don't get it, woman. We always have the worst service here. So why do we always come here? So you know what? Fuck society. Fuck pancakes. Damn it all to hell."

The woman regarded him blankly. The ash-blue of her eyes shone like glass, reflecting emotions that were anything but sympathetic. "Are you done?" She inquired, her patience already wearing thin—and their break had lasted only four minutes. The waiter barely had time to register this greedy man's massive order to the kitchens in the back before her issued partner started complaining.

"For now." He snorted. The torn red leather of their booth seats squished under his moving weight. He cursed, grimacing at the numerous stains gathering on his fine black slacks. He would probably get skinned alive by his boss; after all, these were his boss's pants, not his. "I don't get how you can be so calm." He glanced up, catching her irritated expression. "Really, Ran? You're going to do look at me like that _now_? What the hell did I do this time?"

Matsumoto Rangiku released an exasperated sigh. She was so hungover… why she was partnered with Renji for this operation was a mystery to her. She had no interest in negotiating with these types of jobs, and meeting clients without a single penny to their name. There was no benefit.

She examined her freshly manicured nails, chewing on her bottom lip. "Now that you're paying attention, you seem to forget that we have a job to do."

They blended in well enough, thanks to the "coincidental" emptying of an oblivious passersby's wallet. Matsumoto was dressed in a long-sleeved, silken white top, the first few buttons undone to expose the abundance of her cleavage. Her long, rippling waves of strawberry blonde hair were tossed effortlessly over her shoulders. She oozed sex and the scent of a place that was much more sophisticated than Karakura, the unpolished shithole of a city, where she and her partner were currently stuck in for the sake of pleasing their bosses.

Her looks landed them plenty of beneficial contracts. Some people knew exactly who they were, understanding the certain curve of their tattoos, the brandished markings on their skin, and the ribbons of color wrapped around their wrists and ankles. Matsumoto was careful to only expose the clue of her alliance to the waiter who was oh so _delighted_ to "talk things over" with his manager.

"The boss isn't gonna like this, you know. We're doing more than we should," Renji inquired, propping his elbows on the tabletop. His head pounded with aches, temples throbbing in a constant rhythm. "Work sucks at times, you know?"

"You could've asked pretty much _any_ gullible idiot to take your place." She held back an amused giggle; oh, how she _loved_ toying with Renji. He was far too easy to rile up at times, and only her current loyalties truly kept her grounded to doing these easy jobs (really, sometimes she felt that her boss just couldn't take her seriously, no matter if she was sober or hungover).

"You flatter me, Ran."

"It's part of the job."

Another minute passed. Then two.

"Should've ordered a damn cheeseburger…"

Matsumoto reached into her purse and pulled out a flask, tilting her head back and shamelessly gulping her daily supply of vodka. Renji's jaw dropped, pointing accusingly towards her as she wiped her mouth and momentarily dropped the image of a sex goddess for her brief moment of satisfaction.

"Did you just…?"

"If I can store alcohol in my purse, I'm going to store alcohol _in my damn purse_. If you were you so hungry, you could've stuffed a _cheeseburger_ and a truckload of pancakes up your ass." She shrugged, replacing the steel flask with a tube of lipstick. She applied it to her mouth, one of the rare occurrences when she decided not to use a mirror, for reasons unknown to Renji. "You know, you can always borrow one of my purses, if you're ever feeling like embracing your hungry _feminine_ side."

He snorted. "Whatever." His fingers drummed impatiently, humming silently to himself. His eyes darted to the side, where he noticed their waiter arrive at their table with a plate of lukewarm blueberry pancakes balanced on one hand, his armpits soaked through with sweat. The nervousness in his eyes was obvious; Renji couldn't resist the smirk that crawled onto his features. "Good to see that you finally brought my damn pancakes, sonny. Guess you're not completely useless after all!"

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation as the waiter set down the plate. Between the silver dollar flapjacks was a slip of paper, which Matsumoto graciously plucked and slipped into her collared sleeve. She flashed a charming, far too-white smile towards the terrified boy. Within seconds he scurried away, and the redheaded partner of hers dove headfirst into his brunch.

"See? Simple stuff. Now we just have to deliver the info." She crossed one leg over the other, watching as her partner ruthlessly shoved gigantic bites of fried cakes down his throat. "It's alarming how you can eat so much with using your boss's money. He'll kill you for doing that, you know."

Renji ignored her.

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

The Kurosakis had an… interesting, reputation, to say the least.

There probably wasn't another family in the neighborhood with so many rumors circulating around them than the Kurosaki household, and most of that was owed to the oldest of four children: the carrot-topped, overprotective older sibling who swore that his intentions were anything but stupid. His actions spoke louder than his words, but this was always the case, and more often than not, it landed him in trouble with the law.

Ichigo Kurosaki was the one person no one ideally wanted to mess with. His constant sulk, the ever-present scowl marring his chiseled jaw, and the frigid pair of chocolate-brown eyes that were always narrowed with disinterest and contempt… needless to say, he was a terrifying figure to some, a complete picture out of a paranoid preschooler's picture book.

The orange-haired Kurosaki's expression seemed to only shift with recognition or happiness whenever he was around his family, since he didn't exactly have that many friends. The people who came to his house would normally be there to talk to his younger sisters, but the visits became more frequent after his mother passed away from cancer—pity seemed to be the biggest fishing hook in the Karakura suburbs.

But, shit, they were going to take turns strangling him when they found out what he'd been up to. He struggled earlier with fixing his clothes, slapping on a pair of barely usable shades that he stole from his father's drawer, and keeping his neck low to hide the fresh cuts slicing into his skin. His brow was busted open, bruises already forming along the length of his jaw, and he was sure some of his teeth were cracked.

When he got home, he immediately dashed to the downstairs bathroom—

bypassing the confused look his sister Karin shot him—and locked the door. He cursed at his reflection, running one hand through his wild orange locks, and glaring harshly towards the numerous cuts that he didn't know he had. He looked like he'd been in a brawl, for sure. And that was exactly what he didn't want.

If he was lucky, he could scrape by the rest of the evening without his family asking him about where he was. They didn't need to know about where he'd been the whole day. Maybe he still smelled of smoke—Yuzu would be able to pick that up immediately. He could only hope that the intense aroma from her cooking would drown out the familiar stench.

"Ichigo?" Karin called.

 _Shit_. "What?"

"Are you sick or something? You looked kinda… weird." He could hear her tapping her pencil impatiently against the countertop, and he recalled noticing her homework splayed out in front of her, her half-empty can of grape soda still fizzing over the top.

"Yep. Yep, all good," he called back, groaning in frustration. He could hide these details from his youngest sisters, that was for sure. Hell, they shared the same blood—that wasn't the concern. Even his father could be totally dense when it came to Ichigo's usual brawls and problems with fights.

No, _they_ were definitely not the subjects of his concern.

Twenty minutes later—when Ichigo knew for sure that Karin had left—he walked into the kitchen and fixed himself a sandwich. He double-checked over both shoulders to see if he really was alone, and while doing so, promptly dropped a bottle of instant-squeeze mayonnaise on the floor. He twitched, resisting a stream of curses—Yuzu would skin him _alive_ if she found out he just ruined her freshly mopped handiwork.

"Anyone home?"

Fuck. He didn't even hear the door open!

He froze, tentatively glancing up to meet a pair of striking lilac eyes. He grimaced, remembering that he forgot the stupid pair of shades that hid the massive, swelling blackness around his left eye. He looked like a train-wreck, and he felt more susceptible to this fact at the quickly dropping jaw of his adoptive sister, her hands loosening around the straps of her backpack.

"What…?" She paled, an exasperated, forlorn sigh escaping her lips. She glanced over his features carefully, absorbing every detail, a thousand different thoughts bouncing back and forth in her skull. "Ichigo, you're an idiot."

"Rukia—"

"How many times do you have to get into fights? Seriously? We're not kids anymore. You can't just slug people whenever you feel like it." She huffed, setting down her bag and placing her hands on her hips. She looked so authoritative, but his adoptive sister was not an intimidating person at all judging by first impressions.

"It wasn't like that this time," Ichigo muttered, grabbing his prepared slices of bread. "I dropped mayo on the floor. So, gotta clean it up. Before Yuzu sees."

Rukia frowned, tilting her head to the side. "What happened?"

"Just drop it, Rukia." He regarded her pointedly, the massive purple and black blotches spotting his skin making it difficult for Rukia to focus. He'd gotten into plenty of fights—she could fill volumes of photo albums with his face in a similar position. But even with the way he carried himself… this wasn't out of pride. He wasn't boasting about defending the Kurosaki family honor.

Realization struck her like a lightning bolt. "Did someone… _attack_ you?" The mere thought caused her blood to simmer with rage. If anything, growing up as the younger sibling to someone like Ichigo and observing his mannerisms, she'd quickly adopted the extra-protective and territorial behaviors, and this was no exception.

"I said drop it," he said coldly, but he hesitated for a split second. "Look." He met her eyes, his shoulders slumping. "Don't worry about it. It's happened before, and it's my business. I don't want you or the other girls to get wrapped up in this. Worry about yourself, for damn once."

They'd had this conversation before on numerous occasions. Rukia couldn't help but feel extreme revulsion towards the person who dared assault her brother; hell, even when it was _Ichigo's_ fault she struggled accepting the facts, at least in past circumstances. He did whatever he could to protect them, since those who really didn't know better constantly slandered the Kurosaki name, and he _always_ felt obligated to do something about it. It was practically his life motto.

She wasn't exactly popular at school, similar to how he was when he attended Karakura High, and he'd sworn as her sibling, when they were both young and small enough to play with sandcastles and superhero action figures, that he would defend her until his last days. He'd meant those words, and she made a promise in return, that she would always be there for him. They were inseparable as children and incredibly close friends, and he treated her like she was part of the family, even with their constant arguments and butting heads.

"I want to know who did it, Ichigo," Rukia muttered.

"People get attacked all the time. Don't you have somewhere to be, or something? You should go out and have fun. There are nice girls at Karakura." He didn't even want to bring up the subject of her hanging out with _boys_. He'd castrate the first douchebag that would dare to lay a hand on his adoptive sister.

A bit extreme to some, but hell, it was part of his rulebook.

Rukia sighed. "Ichigo…"

He grabbed his now-finished sandwich and took a huge bite out of it, using his free hand to ruffle the much tinier person's hair. "Relax, Rukia. Nothing to worry about."

A knock on the door drew both of their attention. Ichigo raised an eyebrow, eyeing Rukia curiously.

"Must be for you," she replied. She waited until he was out of sight, scanning the refrigerator, the unopened bottle of mayonnaise still lopsided on the floor. Her mind flashed back, to times where she didn't have to worry about her older brother getting into these situations—Isshin was hardly ever around, and he visited them when he pleased, which pissed off Ichigo to no end; maybe this was his way of venting his anger without hurting anyone that actually mattered to him.

She grimaced at the thought. He would get himself killed if he continued. Yet, still, she couldn't prevent the paranoia that pricked her senses when she thought about the people that lurked in Karakura; the dark underworld of intrigue that, unfortunately, graced high school grounds as well as the suburbs. Criminals were abundant, almost as terrible as the place where she grew up: Rukongai, just ten miles north of Karakura, and a hell of a lot smaller.

The day Isshin Kurosaki nearly ran her over with his car was the day her life had changed for the better. It also marked the first time she met another child close to her age—the boy with the strange shock of orange hair, and the indignant scowl that only seemed to lift whenever the wearer could make her smile.

"Rukia, I'll be back," Ichigo called hurriedly.

Rukia whipped around to protest, but he was already gone, the door slammed shut behind him. The force of it closing sent a gust of air through the blinds.

Sometimes, Ichigo would disappear into the night when they went to high school together. He was two years her senior, and he would have graduated by now if he stayed with the education system. Rukia was the only person who stood by his side and remained his pillar of strength, even in their darkest hours. Protection was their unbreakable key word; a tie-in to the Kurosaki name.

Yet, somehow, she believed that he kept more secrets from her than he would have liked. Whether the matter was up to him or not was up for debate.

 _It can't go on like this_. She was sick of Ichigo trying to be the martyr for the rest of them, the masculine hero that did whatever he could, including sacrificing his own health and safety, for their sake.

She would make it her job to return the favor.

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

"… You're telling me that he _refused_ to pay."

Matsumoto found herself in a rather uncompromising position. She adjusted her collar, tempted to reach back into her purse and suck the steel flask dry of whatever vodka was left. She could hear the shuffling of Renji's loafers in the corner of the room. Normally, her boss's office wasn't too intimidating, but she didn't like being the person to _deliver unhappy news_. If anything, it would have made more sense for Renji to dig the whole he was already in, since he'd stuffed himself full of pancakes that he paid for with his contractor's money.

She swallowed, trying her best to pucker her lips in a seductive pout. It worked on _most_ men, at least. "I'm afraid so, Boss. There's not much I can do about that, but Renji and I did our parts. We met with the contact and they refused to pay for the safety of the diner."

The man across from her seemed even more disinterested than before. He always looked bored, honestly, but Matsumoto knew him too well to let the underlying frustrations he wasn't allowing to be revealed to snake by her undetected.

"I find it hard to believe that he could be so ridiculously stupid."

"B-Believe us, we couldn't believe it either! Trust us on that, Sir!" Renji squeaked, instantly flushing in embarrassment. Usually only one person at a time could speak in meetings like this, especially when they were deliverers of not-so-wonderful news.

It wasn't like their boss was someone that would look outright intimidating at first glance. He was actually quite short for his stature and age, trimmed with slender muscles and blessed with a complexion of unblemished, lightly tanned skin. His hair was stylized and cut into an array of frosty spikes, contrasting with the teal glass pools of his eyes.

Right now he was dressed in his most professional attire, though clearly he'd already had a long, _rough_ day. His long-sleeved black button-up shirt was rumpled, the first few buttons undone. His hair was lightly frazzled; sleep deprivation caused bags to drag his eyelids. The tattoo of a slender black dragon marked the underside of his wrist, indicating that he was a member of the Black Winter Gang.

But he wasn't just a member. This man was the beating heart of their enterprise. He controlled each person with ease, delivered orders like he was born to do so, carried authority like that of a military general, or even a king. He was not someone to be taken lightly, and he owned a massive conglomerate and had great communications with the local businesses, including restaurant chains.

The process was simple. They offered protection, as long as they were paid. Money was everything—they couldn't walk about with expensive firearms and loud-mouth threats and dragon tattoos without the necessary motivation. The Black Winters were comfortable where they were.

And he was Toushiro Hitsugaya, the nicknamed "Frozen Dragon" of Karakura, the most unpredictable and unwavering of them all.

And, right now, he was very, _very_ ticked.

"You know what to do then, Matsumoto," he muttered coolly, his elbow resting on the armrest of his chair. His gaze was vacant, focused on the opposing wall. His cigarette lay lightly clasped in his left hand, a faint stream of smoke dancing in the air. "Make sure that Hisagi and Nemu have returned with their reports on this month's payments. Let them know ahead of time that I will be very displeased if actions have not been taken into our own hands."

Matsumoto and Renji shivered, understanding the weight of his words.

"If they haven't," he continued, turning to face them directly. Gooseflesh rippled along Matsumoto's arms, but she remained vigilant; she was one of few people that could handle Hitsugaya's stare. "If they haven't… I will finish the job myself."

Renji gulped.

Matsumoto tentatively lowered her head, inwardly sighing in relief. "Understood, Sir. We'll go and make sure things are running smoothly with the others."

"Good," the man replied quickly. "You're both dismissed."

* * *

 **REMINDER. This will be updated every Friday.**


	2. Truths and Curiosities

**Desperate Measures**

* * *

 **Full Summary:** _Alternate Universe – Determined to take revenge against the thickheaded delinquent who attacked her brother, Rukia Kurosaki tries her luck with the notorious leader of the Black Winter Gang, the "Frozen Dragon of Karakura", despite his insanely dangerous track record. Usually, those who do business with them never come out alive. But, there's a catch. He's not interested in money—he's interested in her._

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Bleach._

 **WARNINGS:** _Gangs, gangster violence, possible sexual situations, AU plot, crack pairing, possible OOC-ness, terrible language; will bounce between the T and M rating since it's more of a middle ground._

 **A/N:** _This story will be updated every Friday._

* * *

 **II**

Truths and Curiosities

* * *

When it came to high school, Rukia preferred to blend into the background. However, her adoptive surname made that a very difficult task.

Wherever she walked, she would be met with snickers and whispers of contempt towards the Kurosaki name, theories hanging in the air like a colony of flies. Passing one hundred lockers equaled passing an equal, or bigger, amount of people, each individual having nothing better to do than try to slander the name of a person they had never talked to.

She was never the popular sort, but there was no surprise there. When Ichigo still attended high school, he was considerably well-known, as well as considered pretty attractive in his own right. She couldn't blame them in that department, with his tall, strong physique and spastic crown of orange hair. She was the "ghoulish sister", with the alabaster skin, dark violet eyes and wisps of raven-black hair that swept at her shoulders.

It was a good thing that Rukia really tried not to care what others thought of her. At lunch, she sat alone, her homework splayed out in front of her in a widespread stack. She didn't want to study these notes, looking over details of American and English history, environmental science, the Big Bang Theory…

"Well, lookie _here_. Whatcha doing sitting all alone?"

Rukia paused in sipping her juice box. She awkwardly turned to the source of the voice, a shiver zipping down her spine at the sight of a stranger.

She could've sworn she'd never seen someone like this on school grounds. He was rather tall and probably quite muscular beneath the layers of leather and terribly rumpled uniform; his hair was a collection of unruly blue waves and spikes. His eyes, however, brimmed with something akin to insanity. His left leg was propped up on the bench, chin resting in his other hand as he glanced over the Kurosaki girl with curiosity, an unreadable grin latched onto his lips.

"… Who—"

"Name's Grimmjow, _Kurosaki_."

She shut her mouth, raising one eyebrow in contemplative concern. She gestured to the empty spot in front of her, as to keep the distance between them mutual. Instead, he slid right beside her, gradually taking the spare half of her sandwich and chomping into it. Her eyes bugged wide at his actions—she didn't know how to react, whether to be unrealistically polite or outrageously forthright.

The man—Grimmjow, apparently—turned to face her once more, finishing the combination of bread and sliced meat in as little as two enormous bites. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing here, talking to a pipsqueak girl like you."

She held back from snapping, trying to keep her temper in check. "I don't care who you are or what you do, honestly."

He smirked. "Oh, I think you do, Kurosaki." He rolled his hip, drawing her attention to the leather of his belt, and the steel hilt of a pistol latched secretly in one of the pockets. Rukia's breath drew away from her, instantly thinking back to Ichigo's wounds, how he arrived home late, and he was so insistent on not revealing the ambushers' location or even talking about their identities…

She gathered her papers and tentatively placed them back into folders, lining them in her backpack. She tried her best to distract herself, somewhat hoping that when she turned around, the blue-haired stranger would be gone, and she would realize that she was misinterpreting the entire situation.

"Come on. I have something I want you to see."

Rukia swallowed. A single bead of sweat developed on her temple. "Yeah."

Obediently, as if controlled from an outside source, she followed him out of the lawn. She kept her head low to ignore the suspicious streams of whispers threatening to attack her subconscious. Inside, her mind was screaming, her organs violently plummeting to her toes. They wove through the emptied corridors of the school, and she tried to distract herself with the occasional cobweb or wad of gum on the locker doors.

"In here." Grimmjow gestured with a flick of his head towards the door to one of the classrooms. Rukia looked at him quizzically, but she knew better than to try and negotiate with an apparent _psychopath_ who was in possession of a gun. "Go on." His smirk grew wider, but she continued to hesitate. He rolled his eyes, grasping the doorknob and shoving it open, swinging out his arm wide in indication of the empty, broad space. "Look. No fucking traps, if that's what you're worried about. Goddamn, I wouldn't even have time to set those pieces of shit up. So, pick up your scrawny ass and march in there, _Kurosaki_." He spat her name with venom.

She glared at him icily, but decided that this was no time to further antagonize him. She walked into the room, welcoming the slight sense of comfort of being in one of the more familiar classrooms. The blackboard on the opposite wall, and the freshly wiped-down desks and chairs, gave off a scent of apples and cinnamon. The janitor was probably just cleaning in here.

"Decent work, Grimmjow. I'm surprised you got her here with her brains still intact."

Rukia whipped around to the source of the voice. Two men were casually leaning in the back, one of them sitting in one of the chairs, legs kicked up on a desk. He looked bored, shamelessly helping himself to a cigarette. Rukia's skin leveled with goose bumps, her eyes raking over the appearances of the strangers. Like Grimmjow, they seemed much stronger in stature than she was, and would probably rival the likes of her brother in the face of combat.

The man who spoke was tall, with pale skin, his narrow face framed with a head of silver hair. His smirk seemed to devour the width of his chin, hardly revealing any teeth, but just the sight of such a gesture made Rukia dreadfully uncomfortable. He was wearing a brown leather jacket, with black, stonewashed jeans, and a white shirt lying snugly beneath the material. He seemed like a tacky comic book villain, spun straight out of old _Batman_ issues.

The man sitting in the desk was still popping out sticks of tobacco from the pack in his hands, fingers long and lean. His lean face and greasy, oil-colored hair draped far past his shoulders, swept back in a low ponytail. He seemed just as sinister in appearance as the other man, his slit eyes barely opened to reveal the frightening, beady brown depths. Both of the men's smiles could have stilled the hearts of a thousand people at once, and Rukia's grip on the straps of her backpack only seemed to intensify after each second.

"Who… who are all of you?" she asked, keeping her composure to a surprisingly steady length. She glanced between the three men, her face flushing at the amusement sprouting into the long-haired man's face.

He broke into a guffaw of laughter, slapping his knee. Maybe he was drunk, and Rukia subconsciously stepped back to keep considerable distance between her and the other two males. Grimmjow, however, moved forward and pushed her to stay where she was. She bit her tongue, hands lowering from her book bag and gripping tightly at her sides.

"I'm surprised your brother never mentioned us, Ms. Kurosaki." The silver-haired man's tone was just as she'd expected—hollow, yet brimming with secrecy. She wished he could open his eyes, so she could observe a part of him that _wasn't_ bound in shadows. "It's to our understanding that your family has been caught up in a rather _heavy_ predicament. You see, Karakura is a small city. The underworld is, however, quite large in comparison to the people that occupy it."

Rukia's right hand was so close to her cell phone… if she could reach it before these three maniacs noticed… she quickly shook her head to be rid of those thoughts. If she tried anything, they would put a bullet in her brain before she could click in the first number.

"What do you want with me?" she asked.

The silver-haired goon's crooked grin only seemed to spread wider at her question. "We've heard some interesting details, mostly concerning how your brother is refusing to pay for advances. You see, little Kurosaki, your family has been protected within your quiet kingdom of suburbia for a long time now. How do you think that is?"

She thought about it—the police weren't very kind to the Kurosakis, given Ichigo's reputation, but his shadowed, disfigured past never seemed to ring any bells with her. Fearing what he would say to her if she answered, she shook her head instead, willing her voice to the back of her throat.

"She knows," the black-haired thug muttered, his teeth gnawing on the edge of his cigarette. He got up from the desk, pacing towards Rukia and enjoying the immense height he held over the tiny girl. He looked her over once, and she bristled beneath his stare, extremely tempted to punch him across the face and _make_ him look away. "Puny Kurosaki brat. You may not be blood-related, but you definitely share the same _look_."

"The fucker owes us a lot," Grimmjow piped up, apparently bored with scrawling obscene drawings on the blackboard. He swiveled around on the desk, balancing his chin on one upturned palm. The three of them had the same matching smirk, the one that was practically _bred_ to enliven feelings of anxiety within their targets.

"Ichigo owes you money?" Rukia asked quietly. She had a feeling she already knew the situation. These three men were from a gang—they _had_ to be. It would explain so much. She didn't know what to think about this, especially when she had been familiar with gangs and thugs in Karakura before. But this situation was different, and her actual life was being threatened.

"That's the pansy way of saying it," Grimmjow continued. "Oi, Snake, I feel like we should leave a _message_." His eyes turned wild with bloodlust, chilling Rukia to the core.

She stepped back, her heart racing, but she desperately tried to remain calm. She held back a squeak when the silver-haired man—apparently dubbed _Snake_ —strolled up towards her and grasped her shoulders. He chuckled hollowly, running his hands along her arms—she wanted to vomit at this touch, but if she moved even an eyelash, she knew it would seal her fate.

"Perhaps we should," Snake chuckled. Rukia swallowed.

"There would be no point," she muttered.

"What's that, Kitten Kurosaki?" The black-haired thug countered, dipping his face to meet hers, his neck grotesquely twisted to the side. Rukia glimpsed the gleaming surface of a pistol, one quite similar to Grimmjow's. "You say somethin'? You talk again when we're talking, and we're going to have a little _problem_." He chuckled darkly, standing back up and staring between the two other men. "So, what kind of _message_ should we leave? I'm sure anything we do will get her big brother's attention."

"How much does he owe you?" Rukia couldn't hold it back—her voice escaped her, and she was now subjected to three pairs of eyes burning holes into her lowered head. She felt Snake's hands remove from her arms, lightly pushing her forward. She straightened her shoulders, her cheek flushing slightly in response to to their curious, unwavering stares.

"More than you could accommodate for, Kitten," said the black-haired man, grasping the tip of his cigarette and crushing it in his bare hand.

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. "You got an offer for us?" He laughed. "That's a new one. Usually the people we _negotiate_ with have their brains blown apart by now. Like popping confetti in a fucking brat's birthday party." He smirked, reaching and grasping the gun strapped to his belt, holding it up and tauntingly flicking one finger across the metal. "I'd be careful with what you say, Kurosaki."

"Whatever he owes you, I'll find a way to pay you back. But leave Ichigo out of it."

Rukia's fists were already clenching—if she pushed any harder, her fingernails would open the flesh. A solid heartbeat passed, and she watched as Grimmjow slowly lowered his gun, as if interested in what she had to say. Seeing this as an opportunity, she went with whatever came to her mind, quite aware that her instincts were fully in charge of her body and what she said now.

"I know that I look like a typical high school girl. But I'm smart. I could find some connections, I'm sure, and maybe even get some answers out of Ichigo. I could be of use to you, and eventually pay back every penny that he owes you."

Snake held up his hand to stop the beady-eyed thug from saying anything, apparently interested in what she had to say. "He doesn't owe us just _money_ , Ms. Kurosaki," he whispered candidly. For a brief second, his face held a mask of utter seriousness, interlaced with a dark, complacent memory. "Your brother is responsible for quite a lot of damage to our… _organization_ , and the reputations of those involved. _You_ became a part of this situation the moment your _sibling_ decided to tread into unwanted territory."

Rukia blinked. She couldn't even picture Ichigo doing anything so horrible that these three men would be threatening her in the middle of her high school for reasons other than _greed_. Maybe they were total psychopaths and she was doomed whichever way she looked at it, but something told her all three of them were intelligent.

She realized there was a lot more about her brother that she didn't know…

"You seem a bit more surprised than we had expected," Snake added. She glared at him in response, earning a chuckle. "I like you, Ms. Kurosaki. You have a fire that's been lost within our foundation; a foundation that your brother nearly singlehandedly destroyed."

Rukia bit her lip. "What will it take?"

"Yo, Snake, we can't just let her off because you _like_ her," Grimmjow snarled out, irritation seeping in the air. "Besides, we have, like, maybe ten more fucking minutes before we have to bail. Think of something fast. Either kill or beat the shit out of her, or do something, but, man, I'm sick of waiting."

Snake frowned at this, and Rukia tried her best to block out everything that the crazy blue-haired man had just said. She imagined her body, draped in blood, left abandoned in a classroom, just waiting for the impending discovery by a frightened class of students…

"We will not kill her, Grimmjow," Snake said. He smirked once more, grasping Rukia's chin and tilting it up to face him. She looked directly into the slits of his boiling red eyes, barely opened to reveal the true serpentine features that probably earned him his name. "Be on the lookout, _Rukia_. We will contact you again in due time… if you relay this information to anyone else, your days are numbered."

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

Karakura was not the greatest staple for attractions, whether that involved taking the reclusive buildings into account, or the fact that it wasn't the most popular place to visit on the holidays. Downtown was notable for a few gentle park layouts, decorated with simple fake flowers and the occasional happy-go-lucky child. That, however, usually wasn't enough to rely on for time spent away from home—for one girl in particular; she wasn't interested at all in leaving.

Orihime Inoue paid careful attention to the elaborate cakes that she baked for that evening. Her mother's shop was now under her care, and as one of the few shops in Karakura that wasn't completely disregarded for its stature and appearance, she needed to make sure that everything was always in polished, well-meaning shape. Throughout the day she'd received far too many phone calls from eager customers, most of which were the same, and she welcomed every penny.

Her favorite pastries happened to be placed in the front of the store. Cinnamon twists stuffed with sweet cream, tarts overlain with homemade raspberry jam, hazelnut truffles dipped in caramel and sea salt—the list was endless, each original recipe plucked from the very book that her mother handwrote for her. Baking was her passion, or at least, half of it. What the Inoues prided themselves in, ever since she was young, was their constant need to appease others and serve. Orihime lived to put smiles on other people's faces, especially on those of children—it was the least she could with for the absence of her parents. She felt like she was honoring them in some way when she did.

The door to her shop opened. She looked up from squeezing the last touch of periwinkle icing on her rose-shaped cupcakes. She came over to the register, plastering on a giant welcoming smile for the customers, and beamed. "Hello, and welcome to _Inoue's Classic Bakery_! Feel free to browse for whatever you'd like!" She stiffened, wincing at the slight clicking in her heels—her feet were going to collapse if she didn't rest soon.

 _This is why I need to learn how to hire other people…_ she thought begrudgingly.

"Thanks," called the smooth, masculine voice. Her attention snapped back to the source of such a tone, and her chocolate eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

She definitely recognized him. Perhaps he went to Karakura High School? It'd been so long since she'd gone and studied in an actual building, with actual classmates, with actual _teachers_ and _homework_ … her life was now consumed with working around the clock at her bakery, and this man had an air to him that billowed with the air and soul of Karakura.

He was tall and lean, with broad, strong shoulders and an interesting shade of orange for his hair. She subconsciously flushed at the attractiveness of his finely sculpted face and brooding scowl, but his hair somewhat matched the color of hers. She inwardly gasped at the realization—she imagined him joining her in her days of building sand castles, avoiding the other children because they picked on her for her hair color… she touched the green flower barrettes clipping her bangs back, the redness of her cheeks deepening.

"Oh! Everything looks so _amazing_! Ichigo, come look at these!"

Orihime switched her attention to the tiny girl; she was small and lithe, with short, cropped blonde hair and a shining joyfulness to her eyes. She didn't look like she would be associated with someone who seemed so… oddly depressed, like the man who accompanied her. Maybe they were related, but again, she didn't understand how that could be.

"If you're curious," Orihime began, as the girl turned to look at her, "my favorites are the cinnamon twists. The ones with raisins are the seasonal picks, if you're into sweet and savory flavors. If you're allergic to gluten, I have gluten-free versions as well. Don't be afraid to ask for samples, too." She had plenty to spare.

"Okay! Thank you!" the girl squealed, clapping her hands excitedly as she bounced from one shelf to the other.

The man—Ichigo—looked at Orihime, smirking slightly. "Thanks. My sister Yuzu has been dying to come here, and I guess I owed her one, so, one twenty-minute drive later, and we're here." He shrugged, his attention swimming over the numerous pastries, his eyebrows raised in awe. "You must have a lot of time on your hands."

She giggled before she could help herself, feeling a little nervous. He was very attractive, and seemed nice enough. "It's a bit of a passion of mine."

"Well, think anybody would be able to see that," he said simply. He looked at her once more. "Ichigo," he said as he held out his hand.

She gladly took it, her ears turning pink.

"O-Orihime," she answered, quickly taking her hand back. She brushed one strand of hair behind her ear. "Um, so, where do you live?" She almost slapped herself for such an intrusive question, instantly feeling bashful and hoping that he didn't find offense at her question. To her surprise, his smirk only grew a tad wider, and he dipped his head.

"Karakura, in the suburbs. So, around here. Like I said, it only took about twenty-five minutes to drive here." Orihime used this moment to notice the scars and swelling of bruises under his eye, a light gasp catching in her throat. She avoided his eye contact, wondering how he could have received such gnarly injuries.

"May I ask about…?" she asked quietly. He frowned, as if knowing exactly what she was referring to.

"Just, an altercation. Nothing that's worth getting people riled up over." Ichigo scratched the back of his head, glaring towards his sister, who was still quite preoccupied in grabbing at least twelve different pastries. "Our house is going to smell like doughnuts and bagels for weeks," he mumbled grumpily.

Orihime smiled. "I guess I should apologize for that. But I appreciate your business, and bothering to come talk to me." He watched her quietly, as if questioning what she meant. "I-I mean, oh, I'm so sorry, that was really unprofessional for me to say… I just meant that, well, I don't have a lot of friends, and it's hard to meet people when I'm working here all day…" she waved her arms frantically, trying desperately not to lose control and squeak.

Ichigo wasn't even laughing, though, except for the smooth chuckle that escaped him. He shook his head, and his eyes glimmered with something she couldn't decipher. Respect, maybe? "Don't worry about it. It's nice to know that there's still people in Karakura that aren't awful people."

Yuzu rushed to the cash register with so many pastries that her brother couldn't stop twitching. He reluctantly handed over the green bills, but Orihime's shining eyes seemed to make the process less horrible. They left with a quick wave, and with both orange-haired individuals now in possession of each other's numbers.

Orihime stared at the slip of pink paper displaying his phone number. The words slapped onto the parchment, right underneath the numbers, caught her attention before she left the counter.

 _If you need a friend, keep in touch. See you soon._

 _\- Ichigo_

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

"P-Please, I-I never meant for this to be—"

" _Quiet_."

The Frozen Dragon's voice echoed into the dark room with little to the imagination. Renji Abarai and Matsumoto Rangiku stood to the sides, monitoring the person subjected to their boss's verbal wrath. Their backs were pressed against the walls, their teeth equally clenched in anticipation and curiosity. The balding middle-aged man before them was groveling on his knees; bruises and fresh cuts welled across his leathery skin.

"You _refused_ to pay your free, Mr. Toussoni." Hitsugaya was pacing back and forth, his body seething with barely controlled temperatures. He would unleash the fury he needed to vent if that would be the case, and this poor fool, groomed from Italian descent and thrust into the role of owning a series of breakfast chains, would never see what was coming. He'd instructed for Mr. Toussoni to be brought to him without warning, without witnesses, and to not have a single scratch on his body.

The Frozen Dragon was not entirely ruthless. He offered the bald fool a chance to redeem what he had done, to repent for his less than scrupulous actions against the Black Winters. He'd openly disgraced the likes of them, having his waiters glimpse the underside of Matsumoto's arm, observing the pattern of her tattoo, and refusing to acknowledge what they had come for. It was not enough to be associated with the Black Winters to qualify for protection.

The leader of the infamous gang was not too invested in this "delivered message". It was a rule amongst those who worked for the Black Winters, that if their boss was interested in something, he would resort to the rawest of maneuvers. Today, he was brandished with a golf club, the steel hilt blunt enough to harm, but not thick enough to kill. He'd made sure that it was more of an intimidation tactic; dead clients were useless clients. He had no need for corpses.

The only time he had resorted to the "rawest form" of punishing those who disrespected him was one time, and one time only. In that moment, which was demonstrated in front of the entirety of the Black Winters, he had brandished his bare fists. And it was easily the most frightening thing that his employees and coworkers had ever seen.

God's angels above must have _blessed_ Mr. Toussoni, in order for him to not be forced to succumb to the infinite might that dwelled in the Frozen Dragon's black heart.

"You know the consequences of those who do not pay their tax, Mr. Toussoni. I'm appalled that you would take such risks and apply that formula to your ways. Do you have any idea how dangerous of a person I am? How many connections I have in the underworld?" He examined the gleaming steel of his revolver, as if stiffly glancing over his own reflection, the frostiness of his teal eyes.

Mr. Toussoni was a crumpled mass of cloth, small amounts of blood, and pitiful whimpers. He had nothing else to say. Hitsugaya felt almost insulted that the son of a bitch bothered to show up with his hands practically tied behind his back, _begging_ for a death wish, and now here he was, looking as if his own dignity was stolen from right beneath him.

"If this happens again, I will make sure that your entire business empire—and your _life_ —crumbles to the ground. Do I make myself clear?" In a split second, he smashed the butt of his gun to the balding man's head, causing him to moan in pain and grasp at the indentation forming in his skull. It followed the twenty others that the ruthless man had thrown upon him, but again, it was an act of mercy compared to what he could have been dealt.

The cards he were playing with happened to be lucky. At least, for today.

"Matsumoto," Hitsugaya called, not looking up from where Mr. Toussoni lay. "Take him out of here. I don't want to see his face." The woman nodded, quickly seizing the Italian business owner by the arm and vacating the facilities. Hitsugaya turned to admonish Renji with a brief dip of his head, causing the redhead to practically sprint out of the room.

He set down his revolver and clicked open the clipper, snorting at the fact that he used a weapon with an empty barrel, and for what? An equally empty threat? If Mr. Toussoni had known he didn't have a single bullet loaded, he would have sprinted for the high hills, bellowing that the Frozen Dragon was a fraud.

He would have to be extra cautious. The revolver was his least-favorite weapon to use when taunting inhospitable people. Mr. Toussoni was an idiotic pig amongst thousands of wolves—very few defied him, but when they did, they never returned to his office for the same reasons as before. He always made the message loud and clear. He didn't have to wait for a response form the restaurateur to know that he could retain his threats.

He took out one of the spare packets of cigarettes from his drawer, flicking a match over the tip and watching it blaze. He inhaled, closing his eyes in recollection of all the times he'd had to deal with fools like the bastard just now. He relished in the feeling of being superior, of being a _king_ of sorts, but dealing with unpleasant dwellers within his little empire, if he could call it that, was not his most favorite aspect of the job description.

His eyelid twitched once the phone on his desk rang. He rolled his eyes. It was probably Matsumoto. He reached over and grabbed it, putting it up to his ear and briefly pulling away his cigarette. "Talk."

" _There's been a situation, Sir."_

Hitsugaya paused, leaning up in his chair. He felt his muscles go taut. This wasn't Matsumoto. He knew this voice. This voice, in particular, already told him that the delivered news was not going to make him happy.

"Explain, Kenpachi." Zaraki Kenpachi was one of his finest trackers and undercover workers. He always relayed the most important information from the outside world possible to his boss. Hitsugaya was always thankful for that.

But he wasn't in the mood for it right now.

" _I've seen some interesting reports, related to the bastards from 'across the border', if ya know what I mean. There's something going on, Boss. I can't relaly place it, but it's there. It's definitely there."_

Hitsugaya quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not following."

" _Boss, I'm saying that there's been reports of the Arrancar. I think they're planning a revolt. I saw Ichimaru, or Snake, whatever, not too long ago, walking in broad daylight. With, I think it was Nnoitra, the Jester, and Grimmjow."_

The Frozen Dragon pinched the bridge of his nose. Just hearing those familiar names sent relentless streams of memory through the corridors of his mind. Too much bloodshed and dark secrets lied in those depths—exploring them at the moment felt almost forbidden, like he was never meant to retouch those events in his life.

"Did you see what they were doing? I want details."

" _I'm sorry, Boss, but no, I couldn't see what they were up to."_

Hitsugaya sighed. "Alright." He paused, thinking if there was anything else he needed from one of his finest patrolmen. "That will be all, Kenpachi."

" _Wait, Boss. There's something else."_

The white-haired man paused, almost instantly before slamming his phone down. He hesitated, willing himself to keep listening. "What?"

" _It's… Kurosaki. I think he's back."_

Hitsugaya's breath hitched, a twitch of hidden frustrations blossoming to the surface. His grip on the phone tightened. "… Kenpachi, listen to me. And listen to me well. I want you to tell me exactly what you saw relating to Kurosaki. Tell me everything that you know. And then, once you're done, hang up, pretend we never had this conversation, and continue with your duties. Is that clear?"

" _Yes, Boss_."

The Frozen Dragon's stiff frown managed to loosen slightly. "Good."

* * *

 **Decided to update this story a couple hours early since at midnight it will technically be Friday! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for yoru support for the first entry to this story! I hope you all enjoyed it. :)**

 **Until next Friday!**

 **\- Sulfur Dusk**


	3. A Possible Chance

**Desperate Measures**

* * *

 **Full Summary:** _Alternate Universe – Determined to take revenge against the thickheaded delinquent who attacked her brother, Rukia Kurosaki tries her luck with the notorious leader of the Black Winter Gang, the "Frozen Dragon of Karakura", despite his insanely dangerous track record. Usually, those who do business with them never come out alive. But, there's a catch. He's not interested in money—he's interested in her._

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Bleach._

 **WARNINGS:** _Gangs, gangster violence, possible sexual situations, AU plot, crack pairing, possible OOC-ness, terrible language; will bounce between the T and M rating since it's more of a middle ground._

 **A/N:** _This story will be updated every Friday._

* * *

 **III**

A Possible Chance

* * *

Rukia decided not to tell Ichigo about what happened at the high school. By the time she arrived home with her arms full of groceries, she took sight of Yuzu setting up fancy pastries on the countertop in the kitchen, her smile blissful and innocent. It took all of Rukia's energy not to ask Yuzu to leave the room so she could speak to their brother alone.

"Oi, Rukia," Ichigo called, flashing a particular smirk that reminded Rukia of one other time when he looked just as relaxed as composed as he was now… she could see why, now that she actually observed the pastries up close. The strawberry and cinnamon and nutmeg and hazelnut smells erupted into an explosive aroma; they all reminded him of his mother, she was sure.

"Those look good," Rukia commented, her stomach growling. She blushed and avoided her brother's snarky gaze. "Well obviously I'm going to take one. Don't look so smug." Her shoulders loosened in tension, but her mind was still hammered with the voices of those thugs who cornered her in an empty classroom. The guns, the whispers, the promises of ending her life if she involved other people…

"Are you alright?" Yuzu asked, her big eyes fluttering. Rukia smiled and patted her head, nodding.

"Yeah, I'm fine. All of these pastries look amazing. Where did you get them?" She wanted to divert her attention from her own situation as much as possible. Yuzu went through all of the bread rolls and bite-sized doughnuts, her fingertips caked in sugar and frosting. Rukia's smile never faded, but her heart dropped to her toes—what would happen if they knew about her whole family? Would they attack her sisters after they were through with drilling bullets into her brain?

She winced at the thought—she desperately hoped that her adoptive brother hadn't taken note of her behavior. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious, but his eyes were glazed over with thoughtfulness.

"Something on your mind?" he asked suddenly, breaking her train of thought.

"Nope, nothing," said Rukia, a little too quickly for his liking, but he chose to drop the subject anyway. Shuffling through the paper bags for a second time to make sure there was nothing left, Ichigo compressed the flimsy material and shoved them into a kitchen drawer. She watched him, her eyes narrow in thought. "Um…" She glanced over at Yuzu, smiling slightly. "Hey, Yuzu, I'm going to talk to Ichigo for a little bit."

Yuzu blinked, her eyes going wide with concern. "Is everything alright?" Usually Rukia never asked to speak alone with Ichigo; whenever something happened between them, Yuzu and Karin were almost always the witnesses to such confrontations. It never reached farther than Ichigo promising that he won't disappoint his family in any way, shape, or form, but as of now, Yuzu could detect the glimmer of uncertainty in her adoptive sister's eyes. She nodded her head in understanding, deciding that she didn't need a response from Rukia to confirm her suspicions. "Alright, then. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

Ichigo turned to Rukia with a risen eyebrow, waiting until Yuzu officially turned the corner, and her tiny footsteps echoed up the staircase. "What's up?"

Rukia tapped her fingers against the countertop, pondering. "So… I know that we don't really know that much about each other, aside from, you know, the obvious." Now she was feeling awkward, especially with the slight widening of Ichigo's irises. She needed to choose her words carefully. "Just… can you tell me what happened to you the other day? And no bullshit, okay? I'm not a child—I'm your _sister_ , and your friend, and I want to make sure that you're alright. I've been having suspicions about what happened and I know that whatever secrets you're keeping, you need to share them with me _now_."

Her fists were clenched at her sides, her heart pounding from the weight of her words, but she struggled not to let her emotions override. She did not look her brother in the eye, almost ashamed to do so. She couldn't read his face, and honestly, she didn't want to. She just wanted straight answers. A yes or a no. An explanation of _some_ kind.

"God, Rukia," Ichigo groaned, running his hands through his hair. His eyes were closed, a headache throbbing in his temples. "Are we really doing this now?"

"Yes!" Rukia snapped. "Just tell me what's going on!"

He glanced at her. "You…" He blinked, his eyes widening in realization as a blank frown overtook his lips. "Rukia, did someone _threaten_ you? Who?" The pure ferocity that blazed in those deep brown orbs would have sent chills down the spines of anyone foolish enough to ignite those flames, but Rukia was not one to settle for his temperament without a backup of her own.

"That's not important," she said harshly. "I'm asking about _you_ , not me—"

" _Goddammit_ Rukia!" Ichigo growled, grasping her shoulders and vigorously shaking her. He was careful with how small she was, but the frustration lighting up his face was unmistakable. "Who? Who are the fuckers? _Who. Threatened. You_?"

She calmly grabbed his fingers and lowered them from her shoulders, trying to ignore the slight welling of bruises already developing in her skin. "Answer my questions first," Rukia whispered. He watched her stony movements, but she could tell that her words weren't going through his head in any way whatsoever. "If I tell you, a lot of people will get hurt. But if you tell me the truth, there might be a way out of this."

His teeth were grinding at a rate where he thought his gums were going to bleed. " _Rukia_ , this isn't a joke—"

"Does it look like I'm joking, Ichigo?" Rukia was so tempted to scream, to tear her hair out, and bellow at the top of her lungs, but alerting Karin and Yuzu would not be worth it. Neither of them would want to explain to their younger siblings that something much worse than the usual was brewing in the background. "Please just tell me the truth."

Ichigo stepped back, breathing steadily. He was trying hard to control his temper, to direct his flaring emotions at something that wouldn't harm his adoptive sibling. Rukia watched him blankly, knowing that his anger could be channeled accordingly if she kept her distance, but she was shocked when he slammed his fist onto the countertop. A series of _cracks_ from his knucklebones echoed in the air.

Rukia bit her lip. "Ichigo—"

"I've done things I'm not proud of," Ichigo murmured, his face flat and blank as he looks over his fingers. He didn't wince in pain, but instead set the bones back in place, his lip slightly twitching when he did so. "I'm not involved in that shit anymore. There's a lot that happened when I was still in high school. There are evil people working in Karakura's underground, Rukia." He looked at her seriously. "I did some work with a gang, and I still owe them debt."

Rukia's stomach flip-flopped. To hear those words tumble out of his mouth, to watch him actually _say_ those exact syllables and form those thoughts in the open… it struck her to the core, froze her, twisted the image of her brother that she had solidified over the years, and tarnished it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, surprised at her own composure given the circumstances.

Ichigo didn't look away from her, but his shoulders were rigid with tension. She wasn't going to let him stop at that, though; she needed to know everything, she needed to know why those people who threatened her wanted to harm her family.

"Why do you think, Rukia? You seriously think I would tell you guys I was involved in a gang? That I ran the streets with the worst of them? That I binged on alcohol and I owe some dangerous people a lot of shit?" He shook his head, and that moment, Rukia glimpsed something akin to the awareness of his past actions flicker across his features. She was tempted to both embrace him and yell at him for being so stupid and ignorant. "With you, and Yuzu, and Karin… my responsibilities changed. I knew I couldn't be a part of that anymore." He watched her, his frown slowly dissipating, but the guilt never left. "I've been trying to put that behind me, Rukia. For your sake, as well as Yuzu's and Karin's. They would hate me if they knew. I thought you would too."

Rukia was silent, processing his words. He didn't say anything after that, his attention glued to the cluster of pastries spread out on Yuzu's plate arrangement, like she was getting ready for a party.

"I'm going out," Ichigo said suddenly. Rukia blinked, quickly stepping out of the way as he grabbed his jacket and stomped to the door. "Bye."

The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

His fingers rippled along the keyboard, various images of importance flashing on the screen. Each new photograph downloaded into the computer's hard drive emitted streams of fluorescent blue light. His teeth were grinding; he was frustrated at the lack of information, the complete detraction of insight from his own colleagues, and noting the primary details in each picture made his flesh crawl with unrivaled annoyance.

"Do you really think he's back?" Matsumoto asked. She surveyed the blank office of her boss, her attention flickering back to the man in front of the computer—with his tall, slender form and the rapid movements of his fingers over the keys, there was never a mistake on who this person was, and his involvement in working for the Black Winters.

"Hey, Ulquiorra, I'm talking to you," she repeated, her breath laced with alcohol. She enjoyed a couple of vodkas rather guiltlessly while on duty, but that was the least of her problems. Their mutual boss was absolutely furious with the upstaging of recent clients, and the business chains suffering from a drop in morale. Mr. Toussoni had apparently reported what had happened to the police, but with quick negotiations and a further understanding of what lies beyond the underground kingdom of crime, the Black Winters continued with their regime.

Needless to say, the Frozen Dragon was still letting off steam from those premature events. He hadn't wanted to talk to a single person after hearing what Mr. Toussoni reported to the police, but of course, he knew his way around the law enforcement, but he wouldn't be able to do this forever. They had cut off ties completely with Mr. Toussoni's restaurant chain, knowing that, soon, his business would plummet without their assistance.

The fool had no idea how useful they were to him until he'd fucked everything up.

And now, the news that the infamous _Kurosaki_ teenager from several years prior was resurfacing. Kenpachi had reported this to Hitsugaya, and he'd immediately referred Matsumoto and Ulquiorra to research old data archives in hopes of finding information about the Kurosaki boy, and where he could possibly be now. They were all hoping that they wouldn't be able to find anything, that their tracks were totally cleared.

"I'm busy," said Ulquiorra, broad ghostly eyes trailing over the numbers and flashing images on the computer screen. He paid no mind to Matsumoto, drowning out her impatient words as background noise.

"Well, hurry up then. He won't be happy if we're not finished by the time he gets back." She watched him closely, wondering how someone this strange and… odd, managed to gain Hitsugaya's trust. She never liked it when her boss ordered her to work with him—Ulquiorra handled a lot of the technical backdrop, and she found it nonsensical and, altogether, quite boring.

"I haven't found anything significant about Ichigo Kurosaki."

She groaned at this, her fingernails already bitten to the bare cores. She didn't want to have to grovel on her knees and rip a few extra buttons in her shirt to try and coerce the twisted mind of her boss in another direction… it truly was unfortunate that Hitsugaya's mind never seemed directed towards the female anatomy.

At least, in _her_ case.

"The Boss isn't gonna like that."

"I'm just doing my job," Ulquiorra murmured, swiveling in his chair and turning to face her. He was wearing an apathetic mask, meshing well with the ghoulish image of a tall, slender man with grayish skin and charcoal hair. "I don't even know why he entrusted you to be in my presence while I did the research he wanted. You're practically useless when it comes to these matters."

Matsumoto's lip curled into a pout, fluttering her eyelashes mischievously. "Why, I have no idea what you mean…"

"You're tactless."

"Oh, shut up, you ghastly thing." She scowled, folding her arms beneath her breasts. "This is _ridiculous_. How could there be _nothing_ on the hard drive about Ichigo Kurosaki? He has plenty of history regarding the underworld. I remember spotting him when he was still in high school. A bit of a puny thing, I suppose. Weird hair; looked something like a stack of mashed carrots." She smirked at the thought, chuckling. "I could just find him myself, use my feminine wiles to lure him out iwht his hormones raging behind him."

Ulquiorra didn't seem impressed by her deduction. One leg was crossed over the other, his free knee bobbing up and down repeatedly in anxiety. His features betrayed any sense of unsettled mannerisms in his body—he was perfectly poised, still as a statue, and impossible to read.

"I _did_ find some interesting tidbits about the rest of his family," Ulquiorra murmured, breaking the silence. Matsumoto's head whipped towards him, her eyebrows raised. "Yes, I'm talking about the family he's currently with, the ones biologically related to him, and then some."

"What do you mean? He has two younger sisters… _that_ , I knew for sure."

She placed her hands on her hips, watching him as he stroked his chin in further observation. He clicked on the mouse, his deep green eyes broiling with intensity and focus. Matsumoto remained quiet as he searched through numerous files, the white blocks of information and code dancing in streamlined sequences.

"It's this girl," Ulquiorra said, leaning back in his chair, "that I find most interesting."

Matsumoto came over to his side, her nose wrinkling at the strange scent of marijuana wafting from his clothes, and eyed the image. It was a picture of a girl—but definitely older than the two siblings that Ichigo was often associated with. She was slender, very short, probably standing no taller than five feet, and maybe a couple of extra inches…

Matsumoto tilted her head to the side. "She's cute," she said, her lips twitching into an amused smirk.

The unnamed girl's black hair and huge, almost childish violet-blue eyes were striking and curious, and in the picture the girl was battering away a laughing and smiling Ichigo Kurosaki, the two of them working on something in the kitchen together. The photograph was pulled directly from one of the other two girls' phones; the quality of the picture said enough.

"Hm, this could be good. Very good."

"He seems to hold some immense caring for her," Ulquiorra said matter-of-factly. "I would assume that he's kept her identity hidden from the involvement of the other gang members in hopes of shadowing her tracks. He would have to guess that his sisters were already protected, but if there was someone else in his household who didn't have his surname…"

"So, she must be adopted." Matsumoto pondered this. "Okay, so we should report this to the Boss immediately. Let's get him on the phone. And you're going to do it because I don't feel like doing anything right now." She really needed some strong liquor at this point—she was already doing too much for her normal work schedule. Perhaps this was why Hitsugaya felt it was necessary to pair her up with Ulquiorra for the evening, just to drive her insane for neglecting her usual duties.

"Right." He would've snorted in indignation if he was actually capable of presenting an emotion other than _annoyance_ with this damn woman. She wasn't worth his time. "I'll notify him. However, I don't see how he could use this information as leverage for his current endeavors."

"He'll find some use for it. Every piece of information is valuable to him, no matter how insignificant it may seem." Her eyes clouded with grief—of memories from long ago. "He always finds use for these things. Always."

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

 _Maybe I should call him._ Rukia sighed, trying to distract herself with the numerous shelves stocked with canned soups and pastas, many separate brands flashing multicolored images of chefs and cooks of all kinds. She half-expected one of the stereotypical portraits of an overweight French man to loom geometrically out of one of the cans and smack her across the face with a spatula—all for the ridiculous way she approached such a sensitive and gruesome topic with her adoptive brother.

Her fingers grasped tighter around the leather hilt of a grocery cart. She looked back and forth between the shelves and the yellow scrap of paper in her hands, dashed through with Yuzu's cursive handwriting. She still needed to grab a carton of eggs and a hefty amount of vegetables. Karin couldn't care less about what milk brands she picked out, but her sister was characteristically over-obsessed and quite particular about grocery shopping, and Rukia was the only one who _needed_ to get out of the house and vent with a quick dash to the nearest supermarket.

 _Maybe he's alright, though. He could be with one of his friends. Wait, does he even have friends to go to? Does he have_ anyone _to go to?_ Her heart beat faster, a light sheet of sweat caking her skin. She groaned in annoyance, wiping the back of her hand against her forehead, and keeping her attention focused onward, at anything that could possibly divert her thoughts.

"Hey there."

She almost squeaked—in a terribly foolproof and awkward stumble with the cart, she ground her heels against the tiled floors and was able to propel her body upward in an almost elastic motion, just to make sure that she didn't fall onto her back and crack a bone or two. Rukia flushed deeply and glanced at the source of the voice, hoping to whatever gods above that they weren't hiding guns in their belts…

He was tall and well built, his arms bulging with ropy muscles, made more prominent from the short sleeves of his T-shirt. His hands were loosely hanging out of ripped jean pockets, his wild red hair resembling quills of a perturbed porcupine. Similar to Ichigo, oddly enough, his angular chin matched the sweeping hook of his frown, and his black, bushy eyebrows were furrowed and brimming with agitation. She took note of several deep tattoos inked across his neck and down his chest, where the patterns disappeared beneath his layers of clothing.

She blinked at him, looking around her for a few seconds to be sure that he was talking to her and not someone else. "Um… hello. Can I help you?" She tried her best to be polite, but she wasn't in the mood; there was so much going on, and the last thing she wanted to deal with was another potential asshole.

"Well, I think the question is, can _I_ help _you_?" He watched her shift slightly beneath the weight of his eyes. She didn't run away, which he apparently saw as a good sign, since he reached further into one of his pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Take this. Call the number on it if you need help." He leaned in, Rukia finding it incredibly difficult to move when her mind was so fixated on his grim tone. "Call that number if you need help in _any way_."

She bristled, beads of sweat snaking down the nape of her neck. Her fingertips quivered as she unraveled the slip of paper, blinking at the arrangement of numbers and lack of any other contact information. However, when she looked up to ask the man more questions, he was already gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry that is a day late everybody! It's been one hectic week! Schedule will be back on track hopefully from now on. Thank you for all of the kind reviews from the last chapter!**

 **REVIEW GOAL**

 **20 – 25**

 **Big goals, big ambitions, and yeah, we'll see. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!**


	4. Seeking Help In Low Places

**Desperate Measures**

* * *

 **Full Summary:** _Alternate Universe – Determined to take revenge against the thickheaded delinquent who attacked her brother, Rukia Kurosaki tries her luck with the notorious leader of the Black Winter Gang, the "Frozen Dragon of Karakura", despite his insanely dangerous track record. Usually, those who do business with them never come out alive. But, there's a catch. He's not interested in money—he's interested in her._

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Bleach._

 **WARNINGS:** _Gangs, gangster violence, possible sexual situations, AU plot, crack pairing, possible OOC-ness, terrible language; will bounce between the T and M rating since it's more of a middle ground._

 **A/N:** _This story will be updated every Friday._

* * *

 **IV**

Seeking Help in Low Places

* * *

It was one o'clock in the afternoon, on a prime, perfect Sunday, when Orihime Inoue strolled into her apartment complex, her arms embracing brown paper bags. Groceries hobbled in her grasp, ranging from the freshest milk she could find, and her favorite assorted vegetables. It was time for her to try a new thing—becoming vegetarian seemed necessary, at least, for her expectations.

Orihime wasn't exactly sure how she could be having such a brilliant morning. The moment she got up, bright and early at six o'clock, she managed to drag herself out of bed, whip up a batch of muffins for Tatsuki's upcoming birthday, and go on a brisk jog. She passed barking dogs, not-so-pleasant stray cats, annoyed neighbors, and the occasional smoking gentleman. She always liked to give the benefit of a doubt to the people that lived around her, especially in Karakura's more open spots.

She looked outside the window, poised right above her array of fake flowers (which always seemed to die before she was prepared to purchase new ones), and portraits of her family. Spring rain dappled the glass; she saw her reflection, the unruly strands of orange hair sticking out of a messy, distracting bun. She returned to putting groceries away, her mind suddenly flickering to her buzzing cell phone.

She almost dropped her bag of red potatoes when she heard the voice on the other line. "I—excuse me? Ichigo? H-Hello! Is there something you need?" She stumbled with each word, trying desperately to remain calm and collected.

She listened to the voice, nodding her head once in a while, pondering what he was saying to her. Ichigo Kurosaki. She remembered that name, recalled his handsome face, kind disposition, his adorable sister who had an immense fondness for her pastries…

" _So, is it alright if I come over?"_

Orihime blinked. Slowly. "I…" She felt her cheeks turn furiously red, scoping out her polished, freshly cleaned apartment space, thankful that she didn't really have to impress anyone with her apartment. But now, she would have to, because she would never forgive herself if she said no. "O-Of course! I'll text you my address. Are you doing alright?"

They weren't even friends, were they? He must have been roped up into something relatively awful if he resorted to calling her. Unless, he actually _liked_ the idea of talking to her? But even that seemed foolish…

" _Great! Thanks, Orihime. I appreciate it."_

"Y-Yeah, of course. Anytime." She smiled blissfully when he hung up, wondering if he would be able to tell how easily flustered she became when he was around.

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

"Do you know where he is?"

"Nope."

" _Karin_."

Rukia's deep indigo eyes were frigid with contempt. She'd tried multiple times to get her sisters to tell her where Ichigo had gone. He hadn't returned since their fight, but apparently, he was completely fine since he was able to tell them exactly where he was. He, also, apparently (and stupidly so) informed his younger sisters to _not_ tell Rukia a single thing.

"There's nothing in it for me, you know," Karin replied, mindlessly flipping through a sports magazine. She only paused for an extra couple of seconds if she managed to find an article related to soccer, but other than that, she was just trying to irritate Rukia. The other woman could easily tell, just from watching Karin's mannerisms.

"I'm sure he bribed you with something," Rukia muttered. She grinned when Karin looked at her blankly. "Aha! I knew it." She placed her hands on her hips. "What did he bribe you with? If you just tell me where he's gone—and, for the record, it's not like I'm going to go out and look for him—I won't bother you anymore." She wasn't going to look for him, that was the truth… but he was an idiot for not saying anything to her.

"Nope," Karin replied stiffly.

Rukia groaned. "You're impossible."

"And _you_ need to chill out. He's fine. You know how he is." Karin promptly took a huge bite of an apple. "When he disappears, he always comes back. He's been doing that for a long time. You knew about it even before we did." She glanced at Rukia pointedly, her expression unreadable.

Rukia sighed. Karin was right, in a way. She was older than both her and Yuzu, and was able to watch Ichigo's growing habits of constantly disappearing and reappearing during random periods of the week. When Isshin Kurosaki had bothered to take pity on her and take her under his wing, there was more to the promises he presented than originally thought, and that included the strong bond that would form between Rukia and Isshin's troubled, quiet son.

Rukia was the only person who understood Ichigo for a number of years.

"I guess you're right," she finally said.

When Karin left, Rukia had the entire downstairs to herself. It seemed so strangely empty with everyone gone; especially Ichigo, and the stream of nerves rising in her mind and heart were beginning to upset. She wanted to be calm, to not be so anxious, but there wasn't much she could do with him refusing to pick up his phone.

 _I need to follow Karin's example_ , she thought, _and take my mind off of things._ Grunting, she hoisted her backpack up beside her, fishing out several notebooks and textbooks, counting to make sure that none of them were left behind at the school (which has happened more than a few times). She opened her math textbook, and her heart jumped to her throat.

The crumpled message from the redhead the other day was still sitting in her book. She'd meant to throw it away—forget that a total stranger offered his "help" out of absolutely nowhere and disappeared before she could knee him between the legs. She wasn't going to try and take unnecessary changes with just anything… it was going to drive her insane that crazy circumstances kept happening. She was cornered by three thugs at her own school, learned about Ichigo's shadowed past, and before she knew it, things were changing too drastically for her to keep track.

 _This whole thing is so crazy._ She rolled her eyes at her own thought process. Of course this was crazy! Letting her stubbornness subside, she picked up the crumpled piece of paper and slowly unfolded it. She remembered scrunching up the parchment in her palms, small tears snaking through the tinfoil-like surface. Her eyes raked over the numbers, the words of the stranger echoing in her mind.

" _Call that number if you need help in_ any way _."_

Rukia swallowed. Did he… did that man somehow _know_? This whole series of misfortunes started happening because her brother managed to get attacked and hurt by some thugs. Or, people that he shouldn't have gotten involved with… either way, she didn't know all of the details, and her frustrations building up were starting to tempt her in another direction. She wanted to test this out, trust her ambitions to help Ichigo—wasn't this her purpose now? Her obligation to make sure that no one in their small family in the suburbs of Karakura were harmed?

Hesitantly, she picked up her phone, watching the numbers repeatedly to make sure the number was correct, and she pressed each key accordingly. The moment she heard the buzzing on the other end, she started second-guessing herself, feeling so paranoid all of a sudden. If Karin and Yuzu walked down to her level of the house, they would ask her who she was talking to, and she was an _atrocious_ liar.

" _State your name and your reason for calling."_

Rukia blanched. "I—um…" Did she _really_ have to say her name? "I… was informed to call this number if I needed help…"

" _Did you not hear what I said the first time? Your. Name. Now."_

Rukia bristled. "Listen, I didn't call this number to be threatened! I called this number because of crazy crap that's happening in my life right now. I was told by the person who gave me this number that if I called, I could get help. _Any_ kind of help."

What was she even _doing_? This entire thing could easily be a scam.

To her surprise, there was rustling on the other end of the line, sounding like a few people were pushing each other around. She winced at the static bursts that sounded through the line. She waited patiently, not sure what to expect at this point.

" _Dude, fucking shut up! I told you she was going to call… no, this is what the Boss wanted me to do! So pipe the fuck down! Uh huh… yeah I don't care. Get out of here."_

Rukia blinked owlishly. She almost laughed. Almost.

"Um… hello?"

She heard another pause, before the rambunctious, radically different masculine voice dispersed through their connection.

" _Hello ma'am!"_

The Kurosaki girl somewhat smirked, despite her disposition. "Are you, by any chance, the person I met in the supermarket?"

"… _I can neither deny nor confirm that notion, ma'am. But I will say that we can definitely help you, give your current situation."_

So he _did_ know. "Look," Rukia began, deciding she should tread lightly. Taking a few unnecessary risks wasn't in her line of interest at the moment. "I have a few questions, first."

" _Some answers are classified, just letting you know ahead of time."_ Rukia's brow furrowed; she was a bit surprised that the unnamed man seemed pretty open with her, given the shady methods of handing her his contact information.

"Okay." She grabbed a pencil and a stack of Post-It notes, twirling the object in her fingers. "What do you know about my _situation_?"

" _We know about the trouble that your brother's been getting into. We also know that you can be put in potential danger if shit gets out of hand. I promise you, that in exchange for your cooperation, we can make those threats disappear."_

The color drained from Rukia's face. She kept her composure, breathing carefully, refusing to let the stranger know that she was already feeling uneasy. She wondered if they were going to judge her, based on her mannerisms alone. He sounded intense—a bit scatterbrained, but strong nonetheless.

"Okay…" she muttered lamely. "My brother… how do you know about that?"

" _Trust us, Kurosaki, we know a lot about your family. Your brother's been through plenty of shit with us as well, and we're more than willing to help you get scraped out of the situations he's put you through."_

"I want to help him, not harm him. I want the connections possible to make the people that hurt him get what's coming to them." She said each word honestly and without hesitation. "I will do whatever it takes to make sure that Ichigo can get out of these debts that he owes. I don't know everything about his past, but apparently you know more than even I do. You know too much, from what I understand." She pressed the tip of her pencil into the square block of paper. "I'm not going to play games, though. I want to be sure that, with whatever you're offering, that it's genuine. I'll do whatever it takes."

She didn't expect to say that much. The words kept spilling before she could stop herself, the image of her brother returning to her house wounded and bloody flashing through her mind in a highlight reel. She thought back to the three men who threatened her on high school grounds, pressing a gun to her temple, whispering icy promises in the thick, coiled air.

" _Damn."_

Rukia stiffened. "Um…"

" _You're pretty tough! It'll be easy working with ya, Ms. Kurosaki. We'll set up a meeting with you! Write this down, capiche?"_

Rukia rolled her eyes. _Way ahead of you._ "What time and what place?"

* * *

 **~ 000 ~**

* * *

Hitsugaya was not the most patient man.

He'd muttered his order to the waitress at least six times, always having to include the minor details of ordering a casual glass of Pinot Noir, with little else to accompany it. He supposed that a small restaurant establishment in Karakura could've been far worse than the one he was forced to be present at the moment, but that alone made him slightly frustrated. The foolish Abarai grunt had told him their scheduling plans had been a success—meeting the sister of Ichigo Kurosaki would be an uproarious success. Ulquiorra Schiffer managed to scrounge what information he could, and Matsumoto was adamant in her insistence that they should reach out to the adoptive member of the Kurosaki family for entrance into their lives.

He'd chosen to dress moderately casual for this occasion, suppressing the slight annoyance at the gawking women that walked by. They observed the handsome slant of his jaw, the narrowed state of his crisp, frigid green eyes, and the stark spikes of white hair that seemed untamable by gravity. He glanced at his watch—an antique passed down through several generations of crime lords before him—and propped his elbows on the table.

He was sitting outside, a whimsical iron grating for a fence barricading the tiny restaurant and the remainder of the street. He watched numerous families stroll by, until his eyes locked onto the form of Zaraki Kenpachi, leaning casually against one of the light posts, his weapons carefully hidden. Hitsugaya was no fool; there were plenty of people who wanted him dead. He needed to be extremely cautious when he appeared in the public alone, and still, unless he presented the markings of the Black Winters, his identity was more or less "concealed".

 _Where is she?_ Hitsugaya snorted, tapping his fingers against the table. He stared at his wine, at the empty seat across from him, already thinking over the scenario that would play out.

He would meet her, be as blunt as possible with her, discuss his terms blankly and as forthright as possible. She would probably be terrified of him—hardly any woman he met wasn't—and she would tremble like a startled rabbit. The images drifted back and forth, flickering from one possible image to the next. He didn't know what she would look like. He doubted that she would look anything like Ichigo Kurosaki, since there was no biological connection whatsoever.

The Frozen Dragon traced his finger on the mouth of his wineglass. He was tempted to call this entire thing off—twenty minutes of waiting and this blasted woman still hadn't shown up. He was starting to feel quite foolish, sitting out there in a casual restaurant with absolutely no company, like a brokenhearted delinquent mourning over his disintegrated relationships.

"Here's your table, Miss Kurosaki."

Hitsugaya blinked, sitting up straight and instantly turning his head towards the insufferable waitress. He glanced at the woman beside him, and his brow furrowed in slight surprise.

She was a tiny, lanky creature, with little muscle definition on her, but she had one of the most interesting faces he had come to witness. It was delicate yet strong, mature yet childish, and her eyes were far too large to fit without appearing awkward. Strands of deep raven-black hair stopped short at her shoulders. She was wearing stonewashed jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeved cream sweater, and carried herself in a disposition that was fumbling constantly and clouded in awkwardness.

But the look she was giving him was anything but the gaze of a terrified animal. Those gigantic violet orbs were narrowed, fierce, hard, and _cold_ , like colored shards of ice. He watched her abruptly take a seat across from him, her checking her whereabouts as if she was being watched. The waitress left them without saying another word, as if she could sense who Hitsugaya was.

"You're not at all what I expected."

He blinked. Slowly. Did she just open her mouth? He hadn't given her any sort of permission to talk. "And what, pray tell, does that mean?" He snarled out, already losing the calm, gentlemanly façade that he was meant to wield for this conversation.

She shrugged, seemingly unimpressed, but the slight color to her cheeks proved otherwise. "I expected someone… I don't know. Big, tall, brutish, like that gorilla man by the restaurant entrance. He followed me all the way from my house, so I took a guess that he was either you, or working for you." She turned her attention to the customers, to the scenery, to everything else _but_ him, like he was the most uninteresting thing in the entire universe. He twitched at this reaction, but he couldn't lose his temper. "I'm Rukia, by the way." She was staring directly at him now, but her movements spoke to him; she didn't want to risk anything too soon. She was being cautious. It explained her guarded disposition, but he could tell, somewhere deep within that layer of supple porcelain skin, that she was afraid.

He suddenly wished he had the entire wine bottle at this disposal. "You're not inclined to know my name. I've heard that you're in need of our assistance, however." He watched her slightly flinch at the tone of his voice. _Good_. He wanted to instill fear in her heart—those who came to him for favors never did see the potential he held until they crossed him. Stupid fools such as them never deserved to breathe in the first place. "Tell me your plight."

Rukia Kurosaki's head tilted to the side. She instantly reminded him of a confused puppy. "You know why I'm here, right? I mean, I had this whole conversation with one of your colleagues over the phone…" she trailed off. "Um, well, my brother… I want these people that are targeting him, that are _threatening_ him, to be dealt with. I just want them to understand that what they had done is terrible and they need to suffer the consequences."

His lips struggled not to smirk. This girl was not experienced at all with the criminal dwellings of the underworld. She seemed stiff with her own words, like she wasn't even bred to think in such ways. She was edgy though… he supposed he could respect her for that.

"You want marked deaths," he said bluntly, taking a sip from his wine.

She glanced at him, unsure. "I don't know."

"We're not Karakura's babysitters, Ms. Kurosaki," Hitsugaya muttered. "If you want the entire deal, then our connections are perfect for you. If you are looking for someone to pat you on the back and become guardian angels to your tiny family, then you are wasting both of our time. I agreed to this meeting with you upon hearing from my colleague that you had connections with your brother."

Rukia just watched him, listening.

"You see, Kurosaki… he has had many unfortunate confrontations with the Black Winters. I'm assuming that you understand the situation that you're in, now that all of this has happened. I can also assume that you have a grasping on the fact that you are most certainly not safe, and not worthy of our protection if you're asking for so little. You came to us for a _permanent_ solution, did you not?"

He expected her to get up and walk away. But, no, to his (pleasant) surprise, she remained exactly where she was, the fury deepening in her eyes. She was livid with building frustrations, bottled emotions that she could not control blazing in the depths of her soul. For some strange reason, he wondered how long he could temper those flames until she burst like a teakettle.

"You know, I didn't _have_ to ask for _protection_ from _anyone_. And, on top of that, the _last_ thing I wanted to do was to seek help from a bloodthirsty gang leader like _you_."

Kenpachi must have heard her stinging words from over the microphones clipped to their jackets, for Hitsugaya noticed him reach for his revolver. He cocked his head to the side, signaling that there was no problem here. He was inclined to listen to what the Kurosaki woman had to say.

"Oh really," he said dryly. "You are incredibly stupid, then, if you believe that's the case. For a situation like this, you need to seek help in low places." He smirked at her reddening features. "For the record, I'm not one to deal with childish behavior. If you're going to get angry, I suggest you leave before you have an unfortunate meeting with one of my colleagues. I have them stationed in every corner of this street, willing to protect their leader at any cost. Now, if you would be so kind…" he snapped his fingers, gesturing for one of the waiters to come over to their table. "I insist that you have something to eat. Perhaps your poor management of your temper is linked to your hunger."

She blushed furiously, her fists clenching brutally in her lap. He could feel the anger radiating from her tiny body. The more he watched her, the more amused he was, and the more he wanted to hear her say. He was curious, and he surprised himself with his own inclination that she eat something… did he truly want this meeting to be longer than it was?

"So, you're one of those guys that likes the attention, and revels in it, right?" she quipped, suddenly appearing bored, disinterested—similar to how she was when she first walked into the restaurant. He studied her cautiously; she was good at continuing their banter. "You like the fact that I'm terrified of you. You're greedy, you _live_ off of it." She sighed, shaking her head. "Honestly, I regret coming here. This was a stupid mistake—"

"Explain what you would like to have done, Kurosaki."

She blinked, looking at him icily. "I already said—"

"I'm a busy man, and if you walk away from this, we will never communicate again. I will cut off contacts between you and any source of illegal help that you reach out to. I have a lot of power in this realm of crime, Ms. Kurosaki. You would be extremely foolish in turning this offer away." His eyes were smoldering globes of teal, as cold as the ice in his blood. He hoped that it sent an equal shiver down her spine, to let her know that he was entirely serious.

"I want them dealt with. Whoever attacked my brother… I just, I want them to be afraid to do that again. I want my family to be safe. I'll do _anything_." Her deep velvety irises were glistening with tears that she refused to shed, whether for pride's sake or humility, he wasn't sure. But her courage was there, sparked from the ashes of seclusion that she undoubtedly held during her position within the Kurosaki household.

She was serious. He had never seen a woman as determined and stupid and foolish and anxious and altogether quite _observational_ as this one. She was emotionally challenged, clinging to the idea of protecting her family, exhibiting a desire to take revenge against those who harmed the ideal protector of their family—she was feeling like she owed them something.

 _Fascinating._ He watched her closely, taking in the ferocity in those eyes. He saw potential. He saw… something. He wasn't entirely sure what, but it buried an idea deep within the corridors of his mind, and there was a trait to this girl named Rukia Kurosaki that was continuing to drag him further into a realm of intrigue.

"It will be done."

Rukia blinked, reeling back in surprise. "Wha—what? Wait, did you just…?" She was gob-smacked. "I don't understand…" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What changed your mind?" She kept her back pressed against the chair once the waiter returned with a fresh menu for her. She awkwardly accepted it and promptly thanked him, before he strode back into the crowd of bustling wineglasses and dishes topped with delicious food. Her stomach growled before she could control it, her blush deepening at the snarky expression of the man across from her.

Hitsugaya fixed her with his steady gaze as she rolled her attention over the plastic menu. "That is not for you to know. But it will be done. This conversation does not have to continue in that direction." He gestured with a flick of his head towards the object in her hands. "Order something."

Her nose wrinkled. "I'm paying for it myself. I don't need your charity." She sighed, and she slightly relaxed. "I… I'll figure out some way to pay you. I swear it." She was so divided on how she should thank him—he could tell with the way she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but there was definitely more warmth in her features, now that she had closure.

"I would like to know more about you."

Rukia blinked, flustered. "Eh?"

She really was a bit strange. But, still, he couldn't help his curiosity. He could feel the confused stares of his colleagues, hidden around several corners of the restaurant and by the benches and light posts just a few hundred yards away, most of them gawking in bewilderment. However, he really didn't care what his employees thought. He was in a rare position in the outside world, talking to an insufferable young woman who bothered to trade her safety and risking her own life for that of her family.

"Tell me more about yourself." He leaned closer, propping his elbows on the table, observing the way she couldn't turn away from him, but she was still grounded in her own paralysis. She wanted to hate him, wanted to despise him for who he was, and oh, how he admired her stubbornness. It was somewhat endearing, and a breath of fresh air. "I will not let you leave unless you talk."

Rukia opened her mouth, but she struggled finding the right words. She clamped her jaw shut, and was unable to say anything even when the waiter returned and asked her for what she wanted. Hitsugaya ordered a simple soup and salad for her, since she refused to say anything to the suited caterer.

"Here is what we will do, Ms. Kurosaki."

She stiffened, eyeing him incredulously.

"At twelve o'clock tomorrow, you will be picked up from your house and taken to a restaurant of your choice. Preferably breakfast or brunch related. We will continue this discussion there."

Rukia gaped. "I… I thought we already talked about the deal and everything…" She was so confused, so bewildered, and he almost broke into laughter because of it.

"Indeed we have," he replied. "The payment I want in return for our services, Ms. Kurosaki, is you."

One could have heard a _petal_ touch the ground it was so unbearably quiet. Rukia's shoulders went taut, her eyes bugged wide into dinner saucers, and her skin flushing incredibly red. Her marble cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and Hitsugaya decided that he really enjoyed that color in contrast to lilac gemstones she had for eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

 _You do._ He shrugged. "I don't know how I could be more blunt than that. The payment for his operation is you, _Rukia_." The name rolled off his tongue in a way that told him he was _meant_ to say it. It gave him a thrill, like injecting a fresh drug into his bloodstream. "You have signed a contract with the Black Winters. You are the first contact to ever meet me and not have a bullet lodged into their brain the moment they insult me. I find you intriguing." His expression was blank and tight and grim, but he couldn't deny that she could read the flash of emotions pass through his features. "I have no interest in your money, or your property, or anything of the sort. I find that having _you_ , however, is enough to satisfy those claims. We will take _care_ of exactly what you wish, in regards to those despicable pricks that attacked your brother. But, in return, you will become linked with the Black Winters. You will be my queen in this chess match. A game like this is one you can never get yourself out of, little Kurosaki."

She had nothing to say. He had sucked her completely dry with his words.

Hitsugaya's heart rumbled with excitement. "And when you play a game with the Frozen Dragon, _Rukia_ ," he slowly leaned across the table, and his lips barely brushed the lobe of her ear _. "_ He _never_ loses _..."_


End file.
